


Ghosts

by LiraelClayr007



Series: My 2018 - 31 Days of Ficmas! [16]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: (even though rose isn't really dead he's still grieving in a way), F/M, Grief/Mourning, Meddling TARDIS, Post-Episode: s02e13 Doomsday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 08:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17056607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiraelClayr007/pseuds/LiraelClayr007
Summary: Rose Tyler may be gone, but her "ghost" still haunts the TARDIS.*a doomsday coda*





	Ghosts

She is everywhere on the TARDIS.

Every room, every corridor, every button and lever on the console. Every bit of the TARDIS is saturated with Rose Tyler.

He tries to read in the library but the first book that catches his eye has her pink and yellow bookmark sticking out of it. She was about three quarters through; he wonders vaguely if she’ll be able to find a copy in Pete’s World.

He goes to the galley for a cup of tea and finds a plate with a few crumbs on it. Biscuits. Shortbread. They’d shared them the day before they visited Jackie.

He tells himself the infirmary must be safe, but no; draped across the back of a chair is one of her sweaters, hastily taken off to get at a slash on her shoulder.

And honestly, even if he didn’t find  _ things _ it wouldn’t matter. Her ghost is everywhere. He imagines he hears her laugh just around the corner. She found joy everywhere she went. Gave it, too.

“Right then,” he says. His voice is raspy, and he realizes he hasn’t used it in days. “Right. If I can’t stay in, I’ll go out. Allons-y!” His hands dance across the TARDIS’s console as he speaks, and soon he is swirling through the vortex, off on a whirlwind of adventures.

But that doesn’t work either. There is no escaping Rose; everything reminds him of her. A flash of blond hair, the smell of chips frying, someone shouting, “run!” When he sees a scribbled crayon drawing and thinks of her he gives up.

So he tries another angle: he asks his ship for a new room. “Just one room she’s never been in. Please. I need a break.”

No blinking, no humming, no chiming.

“I know you can do it! You redecorate all the time! Sometimes there’s circle things, sometimes the circle things are gone! The lights are white, the lights are yellow, you’re  _ brilliant _ , you are, no matter the color. So please, just one little room is all I’m asking.”

Nothing.

“If you can build a swimming pool, you can build an empty room!”

His tantrum (and yes, somewhere inside he knows that’s what this is) is greeted by silence.

He wants to yell, to pound his fists on something, but instead he just stomps off.

Maybe he just needs some sleep.

He’s storming down a corridor to his bedroom when he suddenly stops.

He touches the door in front of him. Just an ordinary door, but he knows it well. It’s  _ her _ room. Rose’s room.

And like that, all his anger, all his frustration, all his...everything, it just drains out of him. He’s done fighting, done pretending.

“She’s...gone.” It’s barely a whisper, but to his ears it sounds like a scream.

Without conscious thought he opens the door and walks through. The scent of Rose nearly knocks him over; it’s almost like she’s just stepped into the closet, or maybe she’s asleep on the bed, under that jumble of blankets and pillows. He allows himself a moment to believe, then steps the rest of the way into the room.

He wanders, aimless, just taking it in. He touches things as he walks: the strap of a purse, a shoe, a cd case. He pulls a blanket off her bed and drapes it over his shoulders, wrapping himself in her presence. He can feel her love. It stings a bit--more than a bit--knowing she didn’t hear him say he loves her too. He hopes she knows. She  _ has _ to know.

His vision blurs. He blinks rapidly, then touches his cheek; his finger comes away wet. When did he start crying? He hasn’t cried since...

Sticking out from under her pillow he finds a worn purple teddy bear. Smiling, he pulls it out, holds it in his hands. He remembers the day she got this. They’d been at an old-fashioned carnival on a human colony, complete with rides and colorful lights, enticing food and a myriad of games. She’d stopped at a stall, smiled up at him and said sweetly, “Win me a teddy, Doctor?” It had been a challenge, and he couldn’t refuse. Unfortunately, he also couldn’t hit the balloons with the darts. He’d grown increasingly frustrated and though at first she’d tried to hide her giggles it didn’t last long. Finally, to his indignant declaration of “I am a Time Lord of Gallifrey, I can pop these balloons!” Rose had gently taken the darts from his hand and said, “Why don’t you let me try.” She had, as was the way of things, won in one go. He’d acted mortified, but couldn’t stay that way. Rose was a force to be reckoned with, always. Why should this be any different? In the end they’d laughed until they ached, then held hands on the ferris wheel, her head resting on his shoulder, purple teddy bear held securely on her lap.

The memory warms him.

Somehow it is good to be here. He can’t be with his Rose, can’t hold her, can’t… but there is something reassuring about being surrounded by her. For all these weeks, months, he’s been haunted. She is not dead, but still her ghost haunts his TARDIS, haunts his entire universe. But here, in her room, he feels...comforted. Calmed. Maybe he can learn to live with her ghost.

He loses track of time, sitting with Rose. After awhile--an hour? a day? a week?--he walks through the room one more time, breathing her scent, taking everything in. He puts the blanket back on the bed. He does not leave the bear; that’s coming with him. He doesn’t think Rose would mind.

He hesitates in the doorway, hand on the doorknob, ready to close up the room once more. “I love you, Rose,” he says to the empty room. Then he closes the door with a decisive snap.

* * *

“Thank you, old girl.” The Doctor stands in front of the TARDIS’s hexagonal console, which hums at him once more. “You always know what I need.”

A few lights blink on and off, to which the Doctor scoffs. “No need to be saucy. You don’t know  _ everything _ .”

The ship lurches under his feet. “Oi! We’re on the ground! What’s that about?” Another slight tremor, and he says, “Fine, fine, you’re brilliant, you. Best TARDIS in the universe.” She hums again, apparently placated. “We’re going to be okay, you and I. I’m never going to forget her, but maybe someday it’ll hurt a little less. I can remember the joys along with the sorrows.”

He looks at the purple bear he’s still holding, then props it up behind one of the longer levers on the console. Pointing at the bear, he says, “You can remind me.”

**Author's Note:**

> 31 Days of Ficmas || day 16 - joy
> 
> Uh, yeah. I know this isn't typically what one would expect for the "joy" prompt. But I had thoughts, and then there was a story, and I had to tell it. Even if it took an extra two days. (oops) Please don't be too mad... *ducks*


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